


pagan prayers and faithless fires

by waterlily502



Series: looking for light [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Catholic Guilt, Catholic Imagery, Catholic Prayers, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Guilty Dean Winchester, Parent Death, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlily502/pseuds/waterlily502
Summary: four year old dean winchester ponders on what it means to sin- and what it means to face retribution.
Series: looking for light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197149
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	pagan prayers and faithless fires

He grew up praying to God  
Knelt by his bed and cast his vision down  
Hands gently clasped, whispers,  
Quiet pleas, boyish things.

A new set of green army men.  
For Sam to stop crying so much.  
More peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

And then there was fire,  
And no God to be found.  
And he wondered what he did wrong.  
_Was he not faithful enough?_

There were some days he forgot to pray.  
Some days he stayed out late in the yard  
Instead of returning for supper,  
Ignoring his mother’s calls.  
Was _this,_ retribution?

There was one time, before the fire  
With Led Zeppelin blaring in the background  
He jumped on his bed for what seemed like hours  
And the vibrations of the music and his movement  
Caused the room to shake.

The little porcelain angel on his windowsill  
Too, shook to the music, bouncing towards the edge  
And then tipped,  
Fell over,  
Shattered.  
_Maybe that was his sin._

And now- after that  
There were no more prayers.  
No more bedsides, no more sandwiches  
No new green army men,  
No more crying,  
Dad said he couldn’t anymore.

Maybe God got lost, that day.  
Sort of like the worn baseball  
Unreachable, hidden away  
Underneath the bramble bushes.  
Sort of like the lego  
Stuck in the Impala’s vent.

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of my first supernatural poems ever. if you like it, please leave a kudos or a comment! :)


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